The fourth layer began subtly. At first, Arin didn't notice it. The floating stone shards of the previous layer gave way to a vast, mirrored plain. The horizon stretched impossibly in all directions, reflecting the sky, the ground, and themselves in endless repetitions.
But the reflections weren't quite right.
When Arin looked at his own face in the mirrored surface, the eyes didn't quite match. His features flickered. His hair shifted slightly. Even his hands—those familiar instruments of survival—seemed foreign, as if they belonged to someone else.
Lyra noticed it too. She touched her face, her corrupted arm phasing through her skin like a ghost. "This layer… it's targeting our minds."
A system window appeared unbidden:
[Zone Transition: Abyss – Layer 4]
[Environmental Error: Cognitive Stability – LOW]
[Warning: Memory Corruption Detected]
Arin's heart clenched. "Memory corruption? You mean… we're going to forget who we are?"
Lyra nodded slowly. "Not just who we are. Maybe what we've learned, what we've done. Every exploit… every strategy. The Abyss wants to erase it. It wants to reset us."
They stepped forward cautiously. Every mirrored shard beneath their feet reflected their movements—but sometimes a step they didn't take appeared in the reflection. Arin's mind reeled.
"Did I… step there? Or did I imagine it?"
A whispering wind carried voices—echoes of their own memories, twisted.
"Arin… you're weak…""Lyra… you can't survive this…"
Arin clenched his fists. "Stop it!"
But the voices didn't stop. They became louder, overlapping, until reality itself seemed to bend around them.
From the mirrored plain, shadows emerged. But these were different. They weren't physical beings like the clones or stone beasts—they were memory fragments of Arin and Lyra, distorted by the Abyss.
One looked exactly like Arin—but its eyes glowed red, and its grin twisted in a way that he never grinned. Another mirrored Lyra, corrupted with spikes of code tearing through her hair.
They attacked without hesitation, knowing every move Arin and Lyra might make—because they were echoes of their own memories, warped by the system.
Arin dodged instinctively, then froze mid-air. A thought struck him.
"The Abyss… it's using our memories as weapons. I can't fight them like normal enemies."
Lyra's voice was calm, though tense. "Then… change your memories. Rewrite them."
Arin's pulse quickened. Could he do it? Pause Function wouldn't help. Glitch Bind only worked on physical entities. But Code Rewrite—it could reach into the Abyss itself.
He closed his eyes, taking a deep breath, and focused. He imagined the memories of himself he wanted to keep: his exploits, his skill, Lyra's trust, his purpose.
Then he carved them into the air with glowing glitch symbols.
[Exploit Activated: Memory Lock]
Protects selected cognitive patterns from environmental corruption.
Duration: Limited.
Cost: Exploit Stability –5%
The memory fragments faltered mid-attack, confused, unable to predict his movements. Arin took advantage, combining Pause Function and Gravity Anchor to strike each fragment, shattering them into harmless pixels.
Even as the fragments fell, Arin felt the pull. Faint glimpses of old doubts, fears, and regrets surfaced:
The first time he died in the real world.
The loneliness he felt as a beta-tester.
The face of Kael smirking at him.
It all threatened to overwhelm him.
Lyra touched his shoulder, grounding him. "Remember who you are, Arin. Not the Abyss' version. You."
He nodded, teeth gritted. Every strike, every exploit, every symbol carved into reality was a declaration: I exist. I survive. I remember.
The mirrored plain trembled. The Abyss hissed in static fury, but it couldn't erase him—not yet.
When the last fragment dissolved, the mirrored plain collapsed into a simple stone path.
Arin and Lyra collapsed side by side, breathing heavily.
"Four layers down," Arin muttered, voice hoarse. "Five to go. And I already feel like my head's splitting."
Lyra's corrupted arm twitched faintly, brushing against him. "If the Abyss keeps trying to erase us, we'll have to become more than ourselves. Every exploit… every skill… we'll need them all. Or we'll lose ourselves completely."
Arin looked up at the dark, flickering sky. The heartbeat of the Glitched Core pulsed faintly in the distance—a promise, or a threat, he wasn't sure.
One thing was certain: the Abyss wasn't just testing their strength. It was testing their souls.
And Arin was determined not to lose.